


We Can Find A Way

by fardareismai



Series: Where You Lead [7]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bridezilla, F/M, Family Conflict, Gilmore Girls AU, stars hollow au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-25 20:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12043413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai/pseuds/fardareismai
Summary: A week in the life of Emma Swan: mother, daughter, friend, girlfriend, disaster.Part 6 of Where You Lead, an OUAT Gilmore Girls AU 'verse.





	1. Saturday

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back my lovelies! I hope you have been well while I have been on hiatus.
> 
> This story is special. Taking place over the course of a week in fic time, this story will be published daily over the course of this coming week. After that I'll be back to Friday updates with the next two stories written.

"You  _cannot_  cater your own wedding," Emma said, pointing her forkful of blueberry pancakes at Mary Margaret across the table for emphasis. "I won't let you."

"Why not? It's not like I've never catered a wedding before."

"You've never been a bride before, and if you try to be a bride and a caterer at the same time, you  _will_ go crazy. As maid of honor, I have to make sure that you  _don't_ go crazy. It's basically my entire job description."

"And planning the bridal shower and bachelorette party," Ruby added with a lascivious eyebrow wiggle for effect.

Emma took a sip of coffee to bolster herself at the very thought. Every time she considered the bachelorette party, her head hurt. Mary Margaret had made noises about a cafe in Portland that served high tea, and Belle would probably enjoy that best of the bridesmaids. Ruby wanted Chippendale's- more for the story that would come of it than any real interest in the entertainment. Emma would have preferred a night at a comfortable bar like the Pixie. Add in the opinions of Mary Margaret's stepmother, Mulan, Granny, and anyone else they decided to invite, and Emma was certain that no one was likely to be totally happy with anything she ended up planning.

That cluster was a few months away, however, and Emma preferred to focus on the current issue at hand.

"I don't know what else I can do," Mary Margaret was saying. "All the catering companies I've looked at require at least five months notice, and we only have three."

"And a half," Belle added, for the sake of accuracy.

"Don't bother with catering?" Emma suggested. "You could just order food from somewhere local and set it up as a buffet. You could probably talk Killian into doing it." She gestured vaguely behind her to the Jolly's counter where she assumed he was probably working, though she didn't bother to turn to check.

"Killian's in the wedding party," Mary Margaret complained, that crease that always formed between her brows when she was upset popping out. "He won't have any more time to cater the wedding than I will."

"Not entirely true," Belle said. "Groomsmen always seem to have more time on their hands than bridesmaids. But-" she spoke quickly over Mary Margaret who looked like she was about to start arguing again, "-probably not enough time to cater the party."

"The Italian Place?" Emma suggested, without much enthusiasm.

The other girls all made faces at this.

"I'm not serving a pizza buffet at my wedding," Mary Margaret said. "We're 35, not 15, and they don't make anything else even remotely edible. Besides, I've had the menu for my wedding planned since I was 20."

"Of course you have." Emma glanced at Ruby with an apologetic shrug. "Could Granny do it?"

"She'll be a grouch about it, but yeah, I think she can." Ruby raised her eyebrows significantly at Emma. "If she's catering, that means she can't be the wedding planner though."

Emma sighed. Of course she couldn't. "Yeah, that's fine. I'm not the bride, I can be the wedding planner. Not like we can do without a bride or food."

"You should get your menu to Granny as soon as possible," Ruby said. "And if it's a big deal to you, teach your staff any of the recipes that they don't already know."

"We're not letting you into the kitchen the day of," Emma warned, "so if they don't know the right way to do it before then, you'll just be happy with what they manage."

"I thought the point of being a bride was that everything went my way," Mary Margaret pouted. "You two keep telling me I can't have what I want."

"If you'd been willing to be engaged for a year, we might have more options," Belle said- she'd been arguing this case practically since Mary Margaret had set her wedding date.

"Or all the money in the world," Ruby added.

"Without one or, preferably, both of those, you have to make compromises." Emma shrugged. "We'll do our best, and that's a lot, but it's not going to be everything, you know?"

Mary Margaret looked slightly downcast, and Ruby patted her shoulder.

"It'll be okay," she said. "The food's gonna be great. Granny ran the Inn with my mom for ages, then alone until Emma dropped on her doorstep. She'd be offended if you even tried to cook instead of letting her do it."

"And Emma's the best wedding planner in the business," Belle added, laying a hand on Mary Margaret's other shoulder.

Emma snorted at that- she was far from it. "More to the point, if you end up as Mrs. Nolan at the end of the day, you'll never remember a few out-of-place flowers."

Mary Margaret's face cleared and, as always seemed to happen when she thought about her fiance, she lit with a smile.

"Mrs. Nolan," she said with a sigh.

Emma rolled her eyes for form, but couldn't help her own smile in response. Mary Margaret and David could make even a practiced cynic like her believe in fairy tales.

"Anyway," she said, calling the meeting back to order, "if I'm back in charge of wedding planning, I might as well check some things with you while I have you here."

"Like you don't see her every day," Ruby snarked.

"And know where she lives," Belle added with a grin.

Emma popped up over the edge of the table, having dug a notepad out of her purse and shot a glare at the girls grinning at her. "No wedding talk at work," she declared primly, flipping the front of the notepad open, "otherwise we'd never talk about anything else and we'd never get anything done. Does anyone have a pen I can use?"

There was a bit of a scramble at that question as the three girls started searching pockets and purses until a scarred hand dusted with black hair and protruding from the end of a blue flannel shirt insinuated itself before Emma's eyes holding a cheap Bic pen.

Emma glanced up at the blue eyes somewhat above said hand and smiled. "Thanks Jones."

He grunted his acknowledgement of her thanks even as he reached around with his right hand to refresh coffee.

"Are you four planning on taking over my best table for the entire morning?"

"Yup," Emma said simply as she turned toward her notepad and began writing things down.

"It's Saturday, and I know you. You won't order any more food, just endless cups of coffee."

"Speaking of which," Ruby interrupted, "we're out of cream."

Killian narrowed his eyes, at Ruby, then turned back to Emma who was completely ignoring him. "I'm pretty sure getting involved with you was the most financially disastrous decision I've made in my entire career," he said.

"Always free to back out," she answered, a smile tugging the side of her mouth as she continued to write.

"And get run out of town on a rail? I think not. I prefer my manly bits where they are, ta."

"Emma prefers them there too," Ruby said in a stage whisper to Mary Margaret and Belle, who both burst out laughing.

"Look at her blush!" Belle cried, delighted.

"You both realize that as your seamstress, I'm actually the one with final control over how both of your dresses look, right? Mary Margaret can say what she wants, but in the end  _I'm_  the one who gets to decide whether you're in puce taffeta." Emma felt Killian retreat from beside her as she glared down her friends, neither of whom looked even a tiny bit contrite.

Typically, it was Mary Margaret who took the role of diplomat, though she was grinning too.

"We're just happy for you, Emma. You and Killian are really good together. You both seem happy, and that's good to see."

Emma looked behind her where Killian was serving another table, then back at her friends, bewildered. "How was that-" she gestured to where he'd been standing before "-any different from how Jones and I have acted in the past?" she asked.

Mary Margaret opened her mouth, as though to answer, then closed it, looking confused.

"Besides," Emma pressed on, "my relationship is not the point of this little strategy session, yours is." She plowed ahead before anyone could say anything else. "Anyway, the big things for a wedding are the location-"

"The Inn," Ruby said quickly.

"Right. The food-"

"Granny," Belle said with a brisk nod.

"Obviously. Flowers-"

"Father said that he could cut you a deal if you want," Belle said, turning to Mary Margaret. "You said white roses and snowdrops?"

"I guess I haven't completely decided. I'm not sure how they'll look together, but those are my two favorite flowers," Mary Margaret said with a shrug.

"You'll need to schedule a time with Mr. French to look at the options," Emma said, marking that down. "You and David probably."

"I'm not sure you should do white roses," Ruby said, frowning. "Or at least not white roses and snowdrops- that'll be completely white, and your dress will be white… You'll want some kind of contrast."

"Maybe pink roses?" Belle suggested. "Since that's your color."

"I still think you should lean into the Christmas thing and do red," Emma said.

Mary Margaret smiled serenely and shook her head. They'd had this argument before.

"I want pink, and I want you to wear pink."

"I wear pink!" Emma objected.

Ruby snorted. "Once a year if we're lucky."

Emma shrugged. "Who needs to wear it more than that?"

All three girls groaned and Emma threw up her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine, we'll wear pink. So that begs the question: what color of pink? There are tons of options."

"It's winter," Ruby said with a frown, "so maybe an ice pink? You know, a silver undertone?"

"I think Mary Margaret would be better suited in rose or blush," Belle said, looking at the bride with an appraising eye. "Maybe even baby pink?"

"My vote would be for blush," Emma said, "but it's up to you, Mary Margaret. What do you prefer?"

Mary Margaret's eyes were wide as the three discussed colors. "I honestly don't know," she said, sounding overwhelmed. "I don't know exactly what all those words mean!"

The three bridesmaids laughed.

"We'll table that until we're somewhere that we can provide examples," Emma said, shaking her head. "Which brings us neatly to the  _piece de resistance_ -"

"The dress!" Ruby and Belle chorused.

Dress shopping had been the original excuse for the girls' breakfast meeting that morning, though they had gotten sidetracked along the way as they often did.

"Most of the big-name, high-end dress shops require six months minimum," Emma said. She might not be the best wedding planner in the business, but she'd done it a fair few times, and knew her stuff. "Even then, it's considered a rush and you pay a premium. You're going to be stuck with either a dress off the rack, or something from one of the low-end shops like David's Bridal."

Mary Margaret wrinkled her nose at this last suggestion. "David's Bridal dresses are always so… generic."

Ruby shrugged. "Call me a cynic-"

"I will not," Emma said around a bite of pancake. "If we call you a cynic, I'll lose half my identity."

Ruby continued as though Emma had said nothing. "-But as far as I'm concerned, they're big, poofy white dresses. One looks a lot like the next to me."

"How can you say that?" Belle asked, shocked. "With your eye for fashion?"

Ruby shrugged again. "What can I say? I like color."

"You like red," Belle said, running an eye over her friend's ensemble which was, true to form, a palette of reds and blacks.

"Red is a color!"

Emma sniggered. "You should be on my side of the pink versus red bridesmaid dress debate."

"Nope," Ruby said with a smile. "Mary Margaret can have that one, pink is just light red. But white? It just feels so archaic, like we're glorifying female virginity and the era of women as property. I just feels like a throwback."

"Ruby!" Belle said, sharply.

Ruby looked up from where she'd been contemplating her cup of coffee to meet Mary Margaret's distressed eyes across the table.

"Oh no!" she cried, reaching across the table to take her friend's hand. "I don't mean you, Mary Margaret. I know you're not, like, commodifying virginity or anything. I didn't mean it like that. You should wear whatever you want and just… just ignore me."

"You're going to be beautiful in white, Mary Margaret," Belle said, patting her shoulder.

"You totally are. I'm so sorry," Ruby said, nodding.

Mary Margaret smiled. "I know, it's okay Ruby. When it's you, you can wear a red wedding dress, but I think I prefer white, even if it does represent a patriarchal and archaic system. I look good in white."

"And if that isn't third-wave feminism in a nutshell, I don't know what is," Emma muttered to herself. "I was thinking," she said out loud to the girls, "that we could take a look at some boutiques and smaller shops to see if we could find you a formal dress in white-" she pointed to Ruby as she continued, "-or ivory, cream, eggshell, candlelight, champagne, or even silver."

Ruby grinned and Mary Margaret blinked in surprise, glancing around at the other women.

"I have no idea what any of those are," she said, sheepishly, and the girls laughed again.

"Don't worry," Ruby said with a wolfish grin. "We'll keep you on track tomorrow!"


	2. Sunday

Mary Margaret was in the dressing room with the shop attendant while Emma pulled out a sketchbook to show Ruby and Belle in the waiting area.

"I thought that we could do something that looked relatively similar, and in the same color, but suited us each. Mary Margaret said it would be fine, so here was what I was thinking." She flipped open the cover of the book and tipped it toward Belle. There were three pencil sketches of a dress from front, back, and side. The skirt of the dress was knee-length and full, with a bateau neckline above the simple bodice.

"My thinking is this," Emma said as she handed the sketchbook to Belle to look more closely at the design. "We use a darker pink underneath- maybe rose or peony, depending on the aesthetic Mary Margaret wants to go with- and then over-top we would do a lace or chiffon in a lighter pink like blush. I think that would give the dresses some visual interest."

She took the sketchbook back from Belle and flipped the page to a drawing of a figure-hugging skirt and crop-top set with Ruby's name scrawled across the top.

"I saw some dresses like this online and they looked like you," Emma said, handing it to Ruby. "I was thinking that the skirt and crop would be in the dark fabric, and then the lace overtop, so you get kind of a peek-a-boo look at your midriff. I think it'd be sexy without being too obvious, you know?"

"That's awesome," Ruby said. "What about yours?"

Emma flipped to the third page, a figure-hugging sheath with a high neckline and long sleeves drawn onto this one with bold lines. "I'm thinking the sleeves would only be the lace, the darker sheath would be sleeveless," she explained.

"Blimey, Emma," Belle said, tapping her fingers on the top of the sketchbook Emma held, "I didn't realize you were this good."

Emma shrugged and kept her eyes on her paper. "It started as a survival skill- fix your own clothes and you don't have to go to school with holes in the knees of your pants, right? It became a hobby later."

"Oh!" Ruby cried, and Emma looked up to see Mary Margaret in a bright-white corset-topped gown with an a-line skirt and white evening gloves. She looked quite lovely except that the skirt appeared to be completely covered in feathers.

Emma glanced at the other two girls to gauge their reactions. The three of them had agreed that morning over coffee, while waiting for Mary Margaret to arrive at the cafe, that they didn't want to influence her with their own disparate fashion senses. As much as they were able, they would be sure that Mary Margaret had what she wanted.

For all that, Emma couldn't deny that she was not fond of the dress. The bright white brought out Mary Margaret's own dramatic coloring, but while Emma had told her that she should look for a gown with pretty details, she thought that feathers and evening gloves were, perhaps, not the ones she would have recommended.

"What do you think?" Mary Margaret asked, looking at the three of them for a moment before turning, as though impelled, back to her own reflection. "I think I look like the Swan Princess." She spun in front of the mirror to look at herself from all angles. "I think the feathers kind of look like snow, don't you?"

Both Ruby and Belle hesitated for just long enough for Emma to know that they weren't completely sold on the gown either, before they got up to look at it more closely.

"That's a good neckline for you," Ruby said, nodding at the deep v-neck of the bodice. "I know we were thinking either a sweetheart or jewel neckline, but that simple one is really nice."

"I know you thought you wanted a ballgown for that princess-y feel," Emma said, coming around Mary Margaret so she could see the three angles in the mirror, "but I think the a-line looks really good on you. Ballgowns can be kind of oppressive."

"They do have presence," Belle said with a shrug, reaching out to touch the feathers on the skirt.

"Yeah, but she's so petite, you don't want the dress to completely overpower the woman wearing it, you know?"

"I agree," Ruby said from Mary Margaret's other side. "The skirt here has a nice fullness without overwhelming us in tulle."

"It's got some unique details too," Belle said, stepping around to speak directly to Mary Margaret. "The feathers and gloves. Would you wear a veil with it?"

Mary Margaret frowned. "I'd thought so. I really like veils, but I'm not sure what type would go with it."

Ruby sniffed beside Emma, who elbowed her discreetly. She'd heard Ruby's diatribe on wedding veils a time or two (or a hundred) in their years together working at the Inn.

"Well, with this much… stuff going on in the dress, you'd want something simple. Maybe just a face veil, kind of 1950's style?" Emma suggested.

Ruby sneezed.

"Bless you," Mary Margaret said. "So I couldn't do one of those that David would lift off to kiss-"

Ruby sneezed again.

"Bless you," Emma and Belle said together.

Emma continued to Mary Margaret. "Those kinds of veils are pretty passe. Most people don't-"

Ruby sneezed a third time, and Emma turned to look at her, surprised to find that her eyes were watering, and her face was red.

"Rubes," Emma said, suddenly distracted, "are you okay?"

She sneezed twice more, then managed to gasp out "goose down," before sneezing again.

"What?" Mary Margaret asked, fumbling to get her skirt out of the way so she could step off the pedestal.

Ruby waved her off, even as she tried to move, sneezing again. "I'm allergic to-  _achoo-_ goose down," she finally managed to get out.

"I didn't know that!" Belle said, even as Emma tugged Ruby away from Mary Margaret and her poisonous dress.

"Yeah," Emma murmured, rubbing Ruby's back even as she continued to sneeze. "All the pillows in the Inn are foam rather than feather."

"I'm so sorry I forgot, Ruby!" Mary Margaret cried, practically in tears.

Ruby flapped her hand, her eyes screwed up against another onslaught.

"Was that the last dress for this place?" Emma asked, one hand under Ruby's elbow. "I think Rubes and I will go outside, try to clear the air, you can meet us there when you get dressed."

The attendant had already bustled up to them and was offering Mary Margaret a hand off the pedestal and toward the dressing area as Emma pulled Ruby toward the door. Belle glanced between both groups and followed Emma and Ruby outside after she'd scooped up Emma's sketchbook.

Once on the street, Ruby's sneezing began to slow, and she took long, deep breaths, even as she pressed a hand to her solar plexus with a wince.

Belle dug about in her big purse, unearthing a package of tissues that she handed to Ruby. Emma dug in her own purse and produced a flask, which she handed to Ruby as well, once she'd finished wiping her eyes with her tissue.

Ruby's eyebrows shot up as she opened the flask and took a sniff, managing not to start sneezing again. "Rum?" she asked Emma, looking amused.

"I knew someone was going to need it before the day ended," Emma said with a shrug. "Congrats on being the first. Now if you're going to drink it, do it fast before Mary Margaret gets back out here."

Ruby snorted, but took a healthy swallow, hissing slightly as it burned down the back of her throat, then handed the flask back to Emma with a sigh.

"At least she won't be wearing a feathered dress," Emma muttered, tucking the flask away again.

"Small mercies," Belle agreed. "Where are we off to next?"

Emma pulled out her phone and checked their next location, pointing off down the road. "Two blocks that way, Designs by De'ville."

She'd spent the previous evening looking up formalwear stores in Misthaven, compiling a list and a map. Killian had called once the diner was closed, and had offered to do the map work for her- his seafaring experience had given him some practice- and she'd been able to hear his eyes roll over the phone when she'd told him she was using an app.

Mary Margaret emerged from the shop a moment later, still overflowing with apologies for Ruby. As the four girls headed off down the road, Ruby waved off Mary Margaret's apologies, and turned her attention back to the matter at hand: her dress.

"So what did you like there, and what did you not like?" she asked.

Four shops into the day, and they were trying to get a picture of what Mary Margaret did and didn't want out of her wedding dress. "Princess-y" and "white" had been the only sure things at the beginning of the day, but Emma had been keeping a running tally in her head ever since.

Mary Margaret's general aesthetic was old-fashioned, and a little bit dreamy, even fairy-tale. She'd been trending toward the modest- high necklines and long sleeves. The departure with the spaghetti straps of this last dress had been tempered by the evening gloves. She was still leaning toward bright white, but there had been a few dresses that had caught her eye in some of the other shades.

"What's the next step for the bridesmaids' dresses, Emma?" Belle asked, handing over her sketchbook as Mary Margaret wound down from talking about her dream dress.

"Mmm? Oh… I'll make a mock-up out of some cheap fabric I have at home. I'll deliberately make it too big and then you and Rubes can come over and let me pin it on you and mark it so I know what size to make it to. I could have the mock-up ready by Wednesday evening, probably."

"That soon?" Mary Margaret asked. "You're sure you're not taking on too much?"

Emma shrugged. "Better to have all of this done before we get too close to the end and get swamped in all the details. Besides, it's just a pattern. It doesn't have to be pretty."

"Well, if you're sure. I'd like to see them too- more than just the sketches."

"That's fine, what about Wednesday at 7?" Emma suggested. "Henry's usually done with his homework by then and playing video games. He'll barely even know we're there."

There was general agreement as they reached the next dress shop and filed in together.

Unlike the last shop which had held rack-upon-rack of evening gowns pressed claustrophobically together, this shop was in the absolute best of taste, intended to provide an  _experience_. There were probably fewer than 100 pieces of clothing actually on display, as well as a few tasteful accessories, and the entire store looked more like a showcase than an actual place of business.

"I'll be out in a moment, darling," a voice came from the back. "Feel free to look around."

Emma had already begun to do just that, her heart practically stopping in sticker shock as she happened to glance a tag in passing. If The Dress was here, they would probably need to take another look at Mary Margaret and David's budget- given all of the help they were getting from around town, she thought they could probably swing it, but they'd have to take a hard look to be sure.

"Hello darlings, how can I help you?" a dramatic voice had all four women turning around to find a tall, model-thin woman with dramatic makeup and clothing emerging from the back of the shop. She gave Emma a long look, and there was an itch of recognition in the back of her mind, but she couldn't place where she knew this woman from.

"We're looking for a dress," Ruby said, drawing the woman's eyes away from Emma finally. "A formal gown that could be worn as a wedding dress."

"You're getting married?" the woman asked, turning to Emma again and looking scandalized.

Emma was sure she must know this woman, but context was completely escaping her.

"Er, no, actually I am," Mary Margaret said, wiggling her fingers in a wave to catch the woman's attention.

"We're her bridesmaids," Belle explained, stepping toward Emma.

"Ah, but of course," the woman said, finally seeming to lose interest in Emma, and striding toward Mary Margaret instead. "But you'll be such a lovely bride. Come with me," she continued, wrapping her arm around Mary Margaret's shoulders. "You ladies can wait out here," she called back to the remaining girls. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Er-" Belle said, glancing at Emma and Ruby, obviously wrong-footed by this hostile takeover of the matter.

"Sure," Emma said, forcefully. "Wine'd be great."

"Lovely. Millie, darling?" she called toward the back room, even as she continued pulling Mary Margaret away. "Would you be a dear and pour three glasses of wine, we have customers."

Once she was gone, Belle and Ruby both turned toward Emma.

"Who is that woman?" Ruby asked, her nose for gossip practically twitching.

"I honestly cannot remember," Emma said. "Give me a second and let me think about it, okay?"

The three girls took places together on a settee in the middle of the shop and a few minutes later were brought glasses of champagne by a blonde woman who, like the thin woman before her, looked at Emma with a shrewd, narrow eye.

"I feel like I've stumbled down the rabbit hole," Emma muttered, watching the woman retreat. She was beginning to be afraid that she'd made a mistake adding this shop to their list.

That opinion was redoubled as Mary Margaret walked out in the first dress. All three girls gasped, and the shop's proprietor grinned, but was quickly dissuaded of the notion that they were impressed with her choice. Emma was surprised that she'd managed to get Mary Margaret into the dress in the first place. It was a trumpet-gown, sequined the whole way down the bodice, strapless with a sweetheart neckline that was open practically to Mary Margaret's navel, and held together with a single jeweled clasp right between her breasts. Rather than a veil or train, it had what appeared to be a cape, held together with a jeweled chain across her chest and more beading and sequins across her shoulders, dropping back into the train that the dress lacked.

"You don't look like yourself," Belle said, hand to her chest.

"I don't feel like myself," Mary Margaret admitted, sounding defeated.

"It's  _tres magnifique_ , no?" the thin woman asked.

"No," Ruby said, bluntly.

The dress did look like something out of a fairy tale, Emma had to admit, but more like something the out-of-touch ruler making profligate use of her nation's treasury would wear, not the heroic princess.

"I think what Ruby is trying to say is that Mary Margaret's tastes tend more toward the… classic," Emma hedged. "More… modest and… subtle."

"If you have a lovely shape, as she does, why not flaunt it?" the woman asked, gesturing to Mary Margaret as though she were a dress form rather than a woman.

"Because she's uncomfortable," Ruby said, glaring at the woman who she obviously didn't like.

"Are all of your options like this?" Emma asked. "Because this may not be the place that we need if so."

The woman snorted and sighed. "I have something that might suit… it is last year's style, and I thought it far too… well, we shall see." She swept Mary Margaret away, as though with magic, and the three bridesmaids sighed.

"This was a mistake," Emma muttered, taking another sip of her wine.

"Where did you even find this place?" Belle asked.

Emma shrugged. "Google search."

"Oh… I guess I figured you'd have asked your mum."

"No."

A new voice rang out, startling all three girls into turning to find someone new emerging from the back of the shop- Regina.

"No, Emma didn't call me and ask where I recommended. And I do wonder why that is."

"What are you doing here, Regina?" Emma asked, jumping up from the sofa.

"Millicent called me," her mother said, gesturing toward the back room where Emma could just see the blonde woman from before. "She assumed I had sent you and wanted to thank me for the business. And there was me, sounding like a fool, not even knowing my own daughter was going to be in town."

Emma suddenly remembered where she knew the women from- they were Regina's witches. She sighed. "You're being a little dramatic, Mom. Why would you know better than Google where the best place to find a wedding dress would be?"

Regina had no answer for that, but wasn't about to back down. "We could have gone looking together. Besides, I have friends here, I could ask them."

"I have friends here too," Emma said with a sigh. "I only had one night to put the names together, no time to get information from the grapevine. And there were already plenty of us going on this trip- you barely know Mary Margaret."

"Well you could have asked me to watch Henry. Where even is he?"

Emma glared at her mom. "Oh, him? He ran away a couple of weeks ago to join the circus. By now I'm sure he's well on his way to becoming the premier high wire artist in the northeast."

" _Emma_."

She rolled her eyes. "He's fishing with Killian, Robin, and Robin's son Roland. They've had this planned for weeks. I didn't realize I needed to run his schedule by you."

"I'm sure you didn't even offer him the chance to come see me, did you?"

" _No_ ," Emma said, feeling like she was repeating herself, "because he already had plans."

Regina opened her mouth to continue arguing, but was cut off by a subtle throat-clearing behind Emma. She turned to find Mary Margaret standing there in a gown that made her gasp again.

"Mary Margaret," she breathed, "you look perfect!"

The dress was a confection of tulle ranging from the palest ivory to near-gold over a white strapless under-dress with an illusion neckline picked out with gold embellishments down the long sleeves and across her chest. It was a lovely, old-fashioned look without being drab or dumpy, and the look in Mary Margaret's eyes told Emma that she thought the same.

"I feel like a cross between Elizabeth Bennet and Snow White," she said with a smile. "Hi Regina, what do you think?"

"You look perfectly lovely, my dear," Regina answered, her voice more gentle than it had been with her own daughter.

"It fits you like a glove," Belle said, walking around their friend and checking her over from all angles.

"Is it…" Ruby hesitated, glancing at the two other girls, "is it The Dress?"

"Before you answer that question," Emma interrupted before Mary Margaret could open her mouth, "I hate to be this person, but do you know what it costs?"

"Oh," Mary Margaret said, her face falling slightly. "I… didn't think to ask. She did say it was last year's style…" she said with a small shrug.

"And that should help," Emma agreed, "but we all promised we weren't going to let you fall in love with a dress you couldn't afford. You made us promise, remember?"

"Emma!" Regina cried, scandalized. "Surely, if this is the perfect dress, the cost doesn't matter!"

Emma winced to see Mary Margaret's face light up with hope again. Obviously she was far too late to stop her friend from falling in love with the dress, but someone had to be realistic, and as wedding planner and resident curmudgeon, it fell to her.

"Unfortunately no, Mom. We have a little wiggle room in the budget, but not a whole lot. If it's more than about $200 above our price point, we're going to have to find something else."

"Even if it's perfect?" Regina asked, sounding horrified.

Emma didn't answer her mother directly, she looked at her friend instead. "If it's a choice between perfect, and almost perfect, and 'almost' means we can afford a photographer, we're going to have to settle for it. The important part is that you're going to be married to your true love at the end of the day, remember? He's going to think you're beautiful and perfect no matter what you wear."

Mary Margaret gave Emma a small smile, but Regina huffed and stormed off into the back room.

"You really will be the most beautiful bride, and you'd knock David's socks off if you wore nothing but a potato sack," Belle said, reaching up for Mary Margaret's hand.

"Even more if you skip the potato sack," Ruby said with a wicked grin that finally broke Mary Margaret's morose look and made her laugh.

The girls helped Mary Margaret back into the dressing room, and Belle agreed to help her out of the dress while Ruby and Emma returned to the shop where Regina was waiting, a smug smile on her face.

"The dress is $815," she said without preamble.

Ruby's eyes went wide and she turned to Emma, thrilled. It was right within their budget for the dress, but Emma found herself oddly suspicious. There was a blazer at the front of the store that cost more than that, how could an evening gown possibly cost so little?

"What did you do, Mom?" she asked.

Regina raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence. "Why so suspicious, Emma?"

"Mother."

She shrugged. "I just asked Millicent and Clarice about their friends-and-family discount."

"Mary Margaret isn't a friend or family," Emma said warily.

"No, but I'm a friend, you're my family, and Mary Margaret is your friend."

"That is some six-degrees-of-separation logic you've got going there."

Regina glared. "Do you want your friend to have her dress or not, Emma? Just because it involves help from me, you're going to deny her that gown?"

Emma clenched her teeth, knowing Regina was right. It rankled her to accept help from anyone, especially her mother, but she also knew she would do anything in her power to make Mary Margaret's wedding as perfect as possible, including swallowing her pride.

"No," she said quietly. "You're right, Mom. You're just trying to help, and… thank you for that. She's going to be very happy."

Regina smiled, though her eyes were still annoyed. "Perhaps next time you'll think to call me when you need help around Misthaven."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Emma's Dress](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB178sfHVXXXXbSXpXXq6xXFXXXg/-font-b-Smart-b-font-Women-Party-font-b-Dress-b-font-Lace-Beaded-Chiffon.jpg)
> 
> [Belle's Dress](https://ss.tbdress.com/images/product/12/12458/12458391_1.jpg)
> 
> [Ruby's Dress](http://ep.yimg.com/ay/sophisticatedlady/evening-dresses-winter-ball-dresses-by-shail-k-3674-two-piece-hand-beaded-pattern-glistens-on-the-fitted-crop-top-and-short-skirt-3.gif)
> 
> [Mary Margaret's (final) Dress](https://img.buzzfeed.com/buzzfeed-static/static/2017-04/5/11/asset/buzzfeed-prod-fastlane-01/sub-buzz-20453-1491406284-1.jpg?downsize=715:*&output-format=auto&output-quality=auto)
> 
>  
> 
> [First Dress MM tries](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/87/8f/06/878f065ceb543effbfd34642a0515300.jpg)
> 
> [Second Dress MM tries](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/44/a4/d1/44a4d140fc4d55652c41a7970af39222.jpg)


	3. Monday

Dressmaking was a bit like putting together a jigsaw puzzle. Emma had been doing it long enough that she could look at a photo of a dress and see the pattern shapes that would have gone into making it floating above it in her mind, and she could see how they would piece together.

She was imagining the pieces of Ruby's dress, staring blankly into the middle-distance when a body insinuated itself onto the bench beside her and held out a blue paper cup with a to-go lid.

"Saw you out the window and you looked like you could use a pick-me-up," Killian said with a grunt when she raised an eyebrow to him. "Waiting for your lad to get out of school?"

Emma was seated on one of the benches in the green of the town square, in full view of the Jolly's windows, but facing the school building.

"Yeah," she said, though he already knew.

"And lost in thought, it seems."

"Just planning Mary Margaret's wedding," she said with a sigh, leaning back against the arm he'd laid across the back of the bench and taking a sip of the sweet, milky coffee he'd brought her.

"Seven hells, but I am glad my only part of that bean feast, aside from standing up on the day, is planning the bachelor party."

"Ugh," she said, shaking her head. "I haven't even started thinking about that, it's too far away and it's going to be awful. Guys are easy- go to a strip club and feel awkward for a couple of hours, then come home and be glad your girlfriends and wives weren't there."

Killian snorted. "Can you imagine our Dave at a strip club?" he asked.

The idea was fairly ludicrous, and Emma grinned.

"Besides," Killian continued, drawing his fingertips over her shirt's shoulder seam as he talked, "your lad is going to be at this event. I figured we'd hook up a couple of the X-Boxes and have a Call of Duty tournament."

Emma shook her head, not even bothering to inform him that eleven-year-olds weren't supposed to play Call of Duty. She knew her son had been playing with David for ages.

"Of all the technology for you to embrace, why video games?" she asked.

He opened and closed his left hand with a grin. "One of the physical therapy exercises for fine motor function."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it is."

"We still on for Thursday?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah. Ruby should be able to babysit," she said. He'd asked her to dinner the previous week. She hadn't yet confirmed things with Ruby, but since moving in with Mulan she'd been more available for such things since Granny couldn't force her to stay at work late.

The school bell rang and the front entrance began disgorging students in a flood. Emma and Killian stood, watching the crowd until a particular glossy brown head appeared and made a beeline for them.

"Hi Mom!" he said, throwing himself into her arms. "Hi Killian!" He did the same, with all the passionate love only a child could show.

"Afternoon, lad. How was school?" Killian asked as he released the boy.

"It was great. We're performing scenes from Romeo and Juliet this weekend. My group is doing the death scene, and Violet is playing Juliet and I'm Romeo."

"That should be fun," Emma said, leading Henry across the grass toward the sidewalk that would take them home, Killian accompanying them as they would pass by the diner on their way.

"Yeah, it's so cool. You can make the costumes, right Mom?"

"Oh!" she said, stopping suddenly. "Uh… how many and when do they need to be done?"

"Paris, the Friar, Juliet, Romeo, and Lord Montague," Henry rattled off. "We need them by Friday when school gets out so we can do our dress rehearsals before the show Saturday night."

Emma could feel her back getting more tense with every name he listed off, and then the timeline nearly made her choke in shock.

"Friday?" she asked, horrified.

Henry turned to look at her, his brown eyes wide and pleading. "You can do it, can't you? I told Miss Jasmine you could. I don't know where we'll get costumes from if you can't."

Through her mind rolled five childrens' costumes and three dresses, as well as work, and being a single mom, not to mention food and sleep and the occasional shower.

"Not a lot of choice then, is there?" she asked with a tense smile. "We'll make it work, but how about you check with me next time before you volunteer me for things, okay?"

Henry nodded and continued down the street a few paces ahead of her and Killian, who fell into step beside her.

"You going to be okay?" he asked.

She sighed and nodded. "I'll make it work. I always do."

They reached the front door of the Jolly, and she smiled and gave him a swift kiss on the mouth. "See ya' 'round, Jones," she said, before following after her son towards home.


	4. Tuesday

In a desperate attempt to maximize her sewing time, Emma had asked Jeff to pick up Henry from school all week and bring him home to her so she could work from the moment she went off the clock until she nodded off into her sewing machine.

When Henry made it home that evening with a shouted thanks out the front door to Jeff and Gracie, Emma had a long skirt constructed but not finished, and pins sticking out of her mouth as she pieced together one of four long tunic shirts.

"Hey Mom," he said, leaning against the door of her sewing room, watching her for a moment.

Emma grunted, unwilling to talk around the pins in her mouth.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmhmm," she grunted again, waving her hand at him to indicate she was listening, even as she continued to pin.

"I was just thinking… I mean… this is going to be a pretty cool show, you know?" Henry said, sounding awkward, like he was trying to talk her into something. "I've been working hard to learn my part- it's hard, but I think I have it, and Violet is really good, and we're pretty good together."

"Mmhmm," she said, then pulled a pin out of her mouth to continue, "you're going to be amazing, Kid."

He smiled. "Well… I was thinking… maybe we could invite Dad to come see it? Just… you know… if he's free, right?"

Emma's stomach knotted again- she hated giving Neal opportunities to disappoint his son.

"I mean," Henry continued. "If you don't want to see him, I understand but… well… I'd like him to come, if he can."

She sighed and pushed herself upright, groaning as she stretched her back from where she'd been bent over her worktable for so long.

"Do you think it'd be okay to ask him?" Henry asked, eyes wide and pleading.

Emma looked at him for a moment, clenching and unclenching her jaw. She didn't like lying to Henry, but Neal did. He was known for saying what he thought people wanted to hear ( _it'll be fine if we don't use a condom, you can't get pregnant from one time_ ), and making promises he knew he wouldn't keep.

"Yeah, it doesn't hurt to ask," she said, finally. "But let me do it. You know your dad, Kid- he hates to disappoint you, so sometimes he'll tell you he can do something even when he can't. He doesn't do that to me 'cause he knows he can't lie to me."

Henry grinned bright and ran across the room to her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Thanks Mom. This is going to be amazing!"

She stroked his head and sighed, the knots of stress in her stomach coming untied for the first time in 24 hours.


	5. Wednesday

Emma's hands were shaking with frustration and exhaustion as she pinned fabric together on her third attempt at a pair of one-size-fits-all drawstring trousers. She had made them before, but had somehow managed to put them together backward twice since returning home from the fabric store three hours before.

Henry's teacher had called around the time she had gotten off work to check on the progress of the costumes, and Emma had explained the skirt and bodice she was making for Violet, the robe she would make for the Friar, and the shirt-and-vests in different colors she was making for the other three characters.

"And they can wear brown pants from home under them," she'd concluded as she pulled up to her house and shut off her Bug. "All of the clothes are meant to be pretty loose, so you belt them over top and put them on the other side of the room on a stage, and they'll look fine, and I don't have to do official fittings or anything." She really didn't have the time for that.

Miss Jasmine, seemed, like Mary Margaret, to have an endless well of patience. Maybe it had something to do with teaching children, but she was able to, without raising her voice, shatter Emma's entire plan.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan, but we can't assume that students have brown pants or belts at home, and we can't assume that buying them isn't an economic hardship for the parents."

"The belts aren't important, you can just use a sash or something and knot it at the waist. That's not a problem, I can bring remnants for that, if they can just wear the pants-"

"I'm sorry, but we can't ask that."

"So instead you're asking one of the class moms- a single mom, no less- to make pants for the whole scene, which means buying enough fabric to make three pairs of pants instead of having everyone buy their own," Emma growled.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan, but you volunteered," Miss Jasmine said patiently.

"My  _son_ told you that I was free to make the costumes, and as far as I can tell, you didn't question his statement," Emma said darkly. "I don't believe I was consulted regarding my schedule or financial straits until the deal was already made."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan, but Henry was very adamant that you could do it."

"Henry is eleven, Miss Jasmine, he only understands the budgeting of money and time in the most abstract terms, which is as it should be for a kid."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Swan-" if the woman said that again, Emma  _would_  throw her phone against the wall "-but I'm afraid we don't have another choice. If you can't help us, we may not be able to perform this scene for the community. Henry's group will have to settle for performing for each other."

Sure, Emma thought, make  _her_  the villain- the one who ended her son's performance of Romeo and Juliet. Henry would never speak to her again.

"No," Emma said through clenched teeth, "I can do it. I would ask that you consult me in future before hanging everything on me, and possibly you could provide a bit more warning next time."

"Henry seemed very sure," the teacher said, finally sounding truly apologetic. "I'm s-"

Emma had hung up before she could finish the statement and had shot off a text to Jeff asking him to let Henry stay at the antique shop while she bought even more fabric.

She'd lucked out and been able to buy it all off the sale shelf, but now, three hours later, she still didn't have a completed set of pants, she hadn't made a robe or a bodice, and still had one shirt and three vests to make, and she was beginning to feel like she might cry, so when her phone buzzed from under a pile of scraps, she didn't even bother with checking the readout before barking, "Swan."

"Are you okay, Emma? You sound a little on edge."

She sighed. "Sorry, Mary Margaret… just distracted. What's up?"

"I just wanted to let you know that Ruby, Belle, and I are on our way over. Thought I'd give you a head's up so you can-"

"Hide the bodies," Emma heard Ruby say from the background.

Mary Margaret laughed. "I was going to say 'put away the laundry that's probably on your sofa,' but hiding the bodies might be more important."

Emma felt like a ball of ice had just dropped into her stomach, freezing her blood and making her feel sick. She could remember the moment she'd walked into her sewing room on Monday after picking Henry up from school, seeing Belle's half-completed mock-up dress on her work table, and telling herself she would need to speak to Mary Margaret at work in the morning about postponing the fittings, and then completely forgetting to do that as her mind had filled with medieval and Elizabethan patterns and shortcuts to making Henry's costumes.

"I'm so sorry, Mary Margaret," Emma said, feeling her skin crawl with guilt. "I meant to tell you that I can't do the fittings tonight. I had another project come up and-"

"Another project?" Mary Margaret's sweet voice had gone slightly chilly, and Emma could hear the voices of Belle and Ruby in the background go quiet. "Emma, I thought you were going to prioritize my wedding."

"I am! Of course I am, but there's still a few months left for me to work on these dresses, and this timeline was much sooner-"

"You're the one who said that we should get the dresses made as soon as possible so we had it marked off the list," Mary Margaret accused. "I asked you if you needed more time and you said it would be fine."

"I know, and I should have called on Monday as soon as he told me, but-"

"Oh Emma," Mary Margaret sighed.

"Please don't be mad, Mary Margaret," Emma pleaded.

"I'm not mad-" Emma knew she was lying, "-but I really did think you were better than this. Honestly, I'm really happy that you're happy-" not quite a lie, but not quite the truth either, "-but just because you have a boyfriend now doesn't mean that you can forget all of your other responsibilities!"

"What?" Emma asked, completely wrong-footed. "What does- I'm not- Kil-"

"I'm sorry, Emma, but I really can't talk to you right now, I'm too upset." That was, at least, the pure truth. "Let me know when you're done with this project for Killian and we can get back on track for my wedding, okay? I'll see you at work tomorrow."

The call ended and Emma stared for a moment open-mouthed at her dark phone, wondering how everything had gone so awry.

"Hey, Mom?" Henry's voice sounded from the doorway and Emma turned to look at him. He frowned at whatever expression was on her face. "Is something wrong?"

Emma sighed and set her phone down. "I made Mary Margaret mad," she said, shaking her head. "As you know that doesn't happen very often, and I'm going to have to figure out how to fix it, and I'm not sure how yet." Making her listen might be a good first step, but even the thought of the amount of mental and emotional energy that would take made Emma want to curl up and hide under a rock. Mary Margaret didn't get angry often, but when she did she could hold a grudge like it was an olympic event.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

She shook her head and smiled at him. "My own fault. Did you need something from me?"

Henry hesitated for a moment then shook his head. "I was gonna make some hot chocolate. Do you want some?"

Emma stretched out an arm and beckoned her son toward her, enfolding him in a hug when he came near enough.

"I don't know what I did to deserve a kid as good as you," she muttered into his hair.

Henry pulled back and grinned at her, brown eyes dancing. "Don't worry," he said, crossing back to the door. "You don't deserve me."

Emma snorted. "Either that or your teenage years are going to be total hell," she agreed even as he vanished down the hall with a laugh.


	6. Thursday

Emma stabbed herself with her needle for the fourth time in the same six-inch finishing seam, and dropped the bodice she'd been working on, squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing the shriek of profanity that she desperately wanted to release. Henry was somewhere in the house, and while he'd heard her curse on occasion, a howl of vitriol worthy of the docks was probably not calculated to convince anyone that she was a good and stable mom.

Not that she felt like one, just at the moment. She'd made sure Henry had something to eat for supper before disappearing into her sewing room yet again. She could hear the television in the living room, but hadn't checked to be sure he'd done his homework or wasn't watching a movie that would warp his brain. She swore to herself that as soon as she finished Violet's bodice, she'd go down and try to be a mom again.

She picked up her work again, noticing that her hands were shaking. Emma couldn't remember the last cup of coffee she'd had. She hadn't been to the Jolly all week, too busy sewing with every spare moment, and the one time she'd gone into the kitchen at the Inn that day, it had felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees from Mary Margaret's cold shoulder, in spite of the blazing ovens and stovetops.

Right, Emma decided, finish bodice, go make a pot of coffee and do the 'mom' thing all at the same time, then come back up to her sewing room and make a friar's robe and one more vest, and then she was done, finally.

_Except for three bridesmaid dress mock-ups, then the real ones, planning a bridal shower, bachelorette party, and wedding- that is, if she was even still on Mary Margaret's list of attendents after her mistake earlier in the week._

Emma sighed and squinted down at the seam she was working on. Mary Margaret would forgive her. If she kept telling herself that, she thought she might eventually believe it.

"Hey, Mom?"

Emma jumped and drove the needle deep into the pad of her thumb this time, drawing blood. She bit back a curse and stuck her finger in her mouth and turned to look at her son, standing in the doorway watching her.

"What's up, Kid?" she asked, more mildly than she felt.

"I just wanted to… to check, you know? Everyone was talking about who was coming to see the show and I just wanted to know… did Dad say he was going to be able to make it?"

Emma froze as Henry looked at her with those wide, hopeful eyes. She'd said she'd call Neal, had promised Henry she'd get a straight answer out of his dad, and hadn't done it. As she looked at him, heart thrumming like a bird's and making her feel lightheaded, she knew it would be so simple to lie to him- tell him his dad had work, or was traveling, or any of a thousand excuses he might have given.

The trouble was that Emma didn't lie to Henry. On rare occasions, she hid painful truths from him, but that was always to spare his feelings, not hers.

She took a deep breath, wishing that she could say or do anything else in the world but this, and braced herself.

"I didn't call your dad, Kid," she said softly. "I forgot."

"What?" The hope leaving his face hit Emma like a punch in the gut.

"I'm sorry, Henry. I got so distracted by these costumes and-"  _Mary Margaret's wedding, and her anger, and Jasmine's annoying rules_ , "-everything that I completely forgot to call Neal. I'll do it right now if-"

"It's too late now, Mom!" Henry cried, his voice tripping up the register in his upset. "If he has plans he can't cancel them now!"

"I know," Emma said, trying to remain calm in the face of Henry's anger. "But he might not have plans. I can still-"

"I can't believe you did this to me!"

Emma, already at the end of her tether after a week of stress and frustration, felt her patience fray dangerously.

"I didn't do it to hurt you, I just-"

Her argument was cut off by a knock at the door.

Somehow that quiet sound brought back another flood of memory- Killian and their dinner plans and Ruby watching Henry for the evening- and Emma thought she might collapse under it all.

"Shit," she whispered, with feeling.

"Who's that?" Henry asked, his own voice on the edge of tears.

"Killian. We were supposed to have a date tonight but-"

"Fine!" Henry shouted, loud and sharp as the report from a gun. "That's just fine! Go on a date and leave me here alone! You're so busy with your new boyfriend you can't even keep a promise to call my dad, so what difference does it make that I'm here by myself? It's not like I matter to you anyway!"

"Henry!" Emma cried, reaching for him, but he dodged her.

"I don't want to talk to you!" he shrieked, running down the hall. "I never want to talk to you again!"

The door slammed behind him- the door to her bedroom, Emma noticed abstractly- loud enough to rattle the entire frame of the house, leaving the place echoing in silence behind him.

Emma felt a fine tremor underneath her skin as the week's exhaustion, frustration, and emotion finally caught up with her. As she walked to the staircase to the door, she felt as though she were standing outside of her body, watching abstract and emotionless.

Killian was standing inside the door, hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet, his shoulders tensed in such a way that told Emma he'd been standing inside for a couple of minutes- long enough to have heard Henry's outburst.

He looked up when her foot hit the squeaky stair near the bottom, and she could see his jaw was clenched.

"You heard?"

He nodded, dark lashes sweeping down over his blue eyes for a moment.

"Look, I'm sorry, Kil. I should have called and told you that tonight-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Love. I knew we weren't going out tonight. Cancelled our dinner plans days ago- I knew you'd either be too busy or too tired. I figured we could order Chinese and watch a movie, the three of us, but-" He glanced up at the room that Henry had retreated to.

"Best not," Emma agreed, quietly. "I'm sorry about that too- what he said. He didn't mean it."

"I know he didn't," Killian said with a small smile. "He loves you, and he'll forgive you."

"He loves you too. No matter what he said. He's just-"

Killian shrugged. "He's just a lad who's had a disappointment. He'll be fine. I'm not worried for him- he's got you looking out for him."

"A disappointment that's my fault," she muttered with a sigh.

"Hey, Love," he said, taking a step toward her. She was still a few steps above him on the stairs, so he couldn't draw her into his arms, but he could reach up and take her hand. "You're allowed to screw up sometimes, Emma. You don't have to do everything."

"I feel like I've done nothing but screw up this week- my mom, Mary Margaret, Henry, you-"

He squeezed her hand. "You haven't screwed anything up with me, I promise. And Henry, Mary Margaret, and your mum all love you. They won't hold it against you."

Emma could feel tears pricking behind her eyes, and took a long, deep breath to keep them from spilling over.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Killian asked, squeezing her hand again. "I'd be no help at all with finishing seams or anything, but I'm a deft hand with a pair of scissors. I could cut out patterns for you if you like?"

Emma raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you know about finishing seams and patterns?"

He grinned. "You talk about this stuff all the time. Do you really think I don't listen?"

"Honestly? I'd kind of assumed nobody listened when I talked about stuff that doesn't matter."

He shrugged. "I can admit that on occasion I've zoned out a bit or gotten lost, but it matters to you, so it matters. And you want me to help, if I can."

Emma finally smiled, feeling like something inside of her was cracking- not as though it were being destroyed, but as though it were allowing the light in where it hadn't been in a long time.

"I'd love the help, Killian, honestly I would, but…" She trailed off and glanced up at the room where Henry was hiding.

"Aye," he said, softly. "I assumed as much. I'll stop distracting you and let you get to your work then," he said, then stepped up onto the bottom step, placing his face even with hers, kissed her cheek, squeezed her hand, and was out the door.

Emma stood in place for a long minute, all the tension in her having finally drained away for the first time all week, and she reveled in it, then turned and trudged back up the stairs to her sewing room and the continued silence from Henry.

After about an hour, she opened the door of the room he'd retreated to to find him sprawled out on her bed, asleep, with tear tracks marking his face. The guilt sat heavy in her gut even as she bundled her sleeping son into her arms and carried him down the stairs to his own bedroom where she didn't bother undressing him, just unfolded a blanket over him and shut off his light. He wouldn't like waking to her face anyway, she thought as she retreated back up to her sewing room to manage to keep one promise to him that week.

Before she turned her sewing machine back on, however, she pulled out her phone and thumbed through her contacts, selecting one and setting the phone to speaker as it rang, and she began pinning yet another costume piece together.

"Emma?" Neal's voice came tinny and odd through the phone's speaker. "It's kind of late, is something the matter?"

Unlike Henry or Killian, Emma didn't mind lying to Neal.

"Things are fine up here. Sorry it's so late, I've been a little busy and just had a minute to call you now. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, you're fine. What's up?"

Emma pursed her lips, trying to think how best to ask, and decided just to plunge forward.

"Look, I know it's super late notice, but I kind of flaked out earlier this week and forgot to call. Henry's got a school play on Saturday, and he'd love you to be there… you know… if you haven't got other plans."

Neal hissed through his teeth. "I'm sorry, Ems, but Tamara and I have tickets to a concert at Madison Square Gardens that night. Her dad got them for us months ago."

"No, that's fine. I knew chances were good you'd already have plans, I just figured I'd check."

"Well thanks for that. I'd be there if I could."

That was a lie, even if Neal believed it was true. Emma sighed- this next part was going to be more complicated.

"Can you do something for me, Neal? Since you can't be there?"

"What's that?"

"Could you… send him something? Like… if he were a girl I'd say you should send him flowers but he's not really into that. Maybe a teddy bear, or one of those cookie or candy baskets. Just something that's from you and says 'good luck.' No… not 'good luck,' 'break a leg.'"

"Oh Ems, you know I'm terrible at that kind of thing. Can't you do it?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. Just… find something you think he'll like and tell him it's from me. Let me know what it costs and I'll pay you back for it."

Emma sighed. It really wasn't a matter of the cost, but the thought behind the gift. Of course Neal didn't really understand that.

"Yeah, okay Neal. I can do that."

"Thanks Ems. You're the best. Was there anything else you needed from me?"

"No, no that was it. I'll let you go now."

"Okay, cool. Hey, are you and what's-his-name still together? Kenneth?"

"Killian," Emma said, biting the last consonant off with annoyance. "And yes, we're still together."

"Right, right. You going to go to Henry's play with him?"

Emma hesitated. Four hours ago, she would have been sure the answer was 'yes,' but after what he'd overheard Henry saying about him, Emma wasn't sure whether Killian would be comfortable going to his play.

"I don't know for sure," she said. "Maybe."

"Right, yeah. Most guys don't want to go to a kid's school play. That's more a thing for parents, you know?"

She sighed. "Goodnight, Neal," she said with finality. "Have a good weekend."


	7. Friday

It had taken an all-nighter of the sort that Emma hadn't pulled since Henry had started sleeping through the night at eight months, but she had managed to make the school's deadline for the costumes, even if she ended up practically tripping up the stage stairs as the school's final bell sounded.

Jasmine was there waiting for her with a sweet smile and a helping hand.

"Thank you so much for doing this, Ms. Swan," she said as Emma handed her a few pieces of costumes. "I know I should have questioned Henry when he insisted you could do it, but he seemed so adamant. This is my first year teaching, and I'm still learning."

"It's fine," Emma said, following her backstage. "I suppose we learn by making mistakes."

Jasmine grinned back at her. "That's what I always tell the children. You weren't upset with Henry, were you? He seemed a little down today."

Emma shook her head. "We had a fight last night, but not about this."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure you two will work it out though. He's always talking about you, he loves you so much. And he's so proud of you- thinks you just about hung the moon and are the coolest mom in the world to boot."

Emma had no idea what to say to that, so she kept her mouth shut until they arrived in the dressing room that Henry's group would be using. Once there, she laid out the costumes she'd made, showing Jasmine how they went together as the sounds of kids in the hallways nearly drowned out her explanations.

"Obviously the skirt and bodice are for Juliet," she explained, setting them to the side. "The robe is for the Friar, and then the boys' costumes are just about the same. I figured Romeo would be wearing black- he's going to die, after all, then Paris in green and Montague in red. Or vice-versa, if you like."

She stepped back, waiting for the criticism to fall- the costumes were not the traditional Elizabethan fare one thought of when picturing a classic production of Romeo and Juliet- she simply hadn't had the time.

"They're perfect, Emma," Jasmine said, clapping her hands. "They're going to look wonderful on stage, thank you!"

"Seriously?" Emma asked, practically sagging in relief.

"Yes, seriously. I hope you'll be able to do it again for the next show. Don't worry-" she said, seeing Emma's face go pale, "-I'll be able to give you more warning, and possibly even a budget. I'm trying to get more shows at the school. It's one of my change initiatives."

"Oh," Emma said, feeling slightly stupid. "Well that's… that's great. I think the kids will love it."

Jasmine beamed at her even as the kids from Henry's group filed into the dressing room, Henry himself bringing up the rear and refusing to meet her eyes.

"Alright, everyone, I'd like you to thank Ms. Swan for making these wonderful costumes for you, and then you'll need to get changed, okay?"

"Thank you Ms. Swan," the kids chorused. Violet grinned and waved at her, but Henry just stared at his shoes.

"Break a leg, you guys," Emma said with a tense smile. "Henry, I'll be over at Jeff's when you're done. You can meet me there and we'll go home, okay?"

For the first time he raised his eyes to hers, a questioning look in them, but didn't say anything- stubborn kid that he was, he just nodded.

Winding through the hallways, Emma's exhausted thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing from her phone. Looking down at the readout, her mother's name flashed and Emma sighed. Yet another person she probably owed an apology to.

"Hi Mom," she said as she passed through the front doors of the school, into the bright afternoon sunlight, and settled herself on the steps for what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.

"Henry called me this afternoon," Regina said, without preamble. She always cut to the chase over the phone. "He wanted to invite me to his school play."

"I was going to call you tonight," Emma said, guessing where this conversation was going to lead.

"He said he didn't trust you to remember to do so. You forgot to call Neal and invite him."

Emma grit her teeth, but kept her voice calm as she answered. "That's true. I called him last night and he wouldn't have been able to come, but I did forget to call him earlier in the week."

"Henry thinks this is to do with that new man you're seeing," Regina said, her voice icy.

"I know he does."

"Emma, you are a mother. You can't just forget your responsibilities with starry-eyed daydreams about prince charming and true love!"

Emma had been patient all week- with Mary Margaret, Jasmine, Henry, and Neal- but her well of patience was not unlimited, and Regina had just managed to snap the final restraint between Emma and her fury.

"Look, Regina," she bit out, practically spitting, "you are the third person this week to accuse me of shirking my responsibilities because of some guy. Now I'll take it from Henry because he's eleven, and he's a romantic, and he's already conflicted about this whole thing and thinks that somehow his friendship with Killian makes him disloyal to his dad now that Kil and I are dating, but I'm not going to take it from you.

"You've known me a lot of years. Have I ever, in all that time, been 'starry-eyed' about a guy? I let a guy get me pregnant and I don't remember ever being 'starry-eyed' about him even once. That's just not me.

"You know what  _is_  me though? Not asking for help. Even when the person who could help is my mom. Even when I'm completely overwhelmed and letting things fall to the side. Even when it alienates my friends or even my son. I don't ask for help, and I've been doing that for a really long time- way before Killian Jones entered my life.

"But speaking of Killian- you and Mary Margaret and Henry keep blaming him for me screwing up like I haven't got any agency here. Like I haven't been a screw-up since the day you met me, or like I never made a mistake or forgot a call before he and I started seeing each other. You know I forgot a date with him last night? He'd made dinner reservations and showed up at my door, and I had to tell him that I couldn't go out with him, and do you know what he did? He said he understood, saw that I was overwhelmed, and offered to help. He is the only person this week who has noticed I was drowning and has tried to lend a hand, and the only person who, when I screwed up on him, didn't act like I'd done it in some sadistic desire to hurt his feelings or ruin our relationship.

"So no, I'm not going to let you blame Killian for shit. He's the only person in my life right now who seems interested in taking care of me rather than expecting me to save them."

"Emma-" Regina started, but Emma interrupted.

"No, this time I'm the one who gets to tell someone that I'm too upset to talk right now. Goodbye, Regina. I'll see you tomorrow at Henry's play."

She pressed the 'end call' button before Regina could say any more, then turned when she heard the school's front door slam behind her. There was no one there.

~?~?~?~?~

Henry walked back to the auditorium with his head down. He'd asked to be excused for a moment to go find his mom and tell her he'd prefer just to walk home rather than have her wait for him, and had heard her entire exchange with his grandmother.

_...He's already conflicted about this whole thing and thinks that somehow his friendship with Killian makes him disloyal to his dad now that Kil and I are dating…_

_...He is the only person this week who has noticed I was drowning and has tried to lend a hand..._

_...He's the only person in my life right now who seems interested in taking care of me…_

Henry's skin felt prickly and hot with shame. He'd been right there, watching his mom- heard her sewing late into the night, seen how tired she was in the mornings, and the band-aids she'd had on her fingers. He'd listened to her fighting with Mary Margaret, and knew she'd sent Killian away after five minutes the night before.

He'd been there for all of it, but hadn't realized that, just like he needed her to remind him to eat vegetables and change his socks, she sometimes needed someone to remind her to get some sleep and make phone calls.

And Killian had done that, even after all the terrible things that Henry had said about him.

Henry needed to do something to make up for it, and he had an idea what that should be.

~?~?~?~?~

Emma found Jeff sitting on his back porch on a two-person rocker that was too scarred and battered to sell in the shop, staring into the middle distance.

He focussed on her for a moment. "You want to talk?" he asked, taking in her face.

"Nope," Emma said, certainly. "You?"

He shook his head and patted the seat next to him, which Emma accepted and the two descended into quiet.

Even if Henry hadn't become suddenly sensitive to Killian's presence, Emma would have been at the antique shop that afternoon, rather than the diner. She knew the date as well as Jeff did- six days after Grace's birthday. The day Alice had finally succumbed to the fever that had nearly killed both of them.

Jeff wasn't crying or shaking, he was just quiet and distracted- as though in another world- beside her. More importantly, he didn't want anything from her except her company, and company was all Emma felt qualified to offer in that moment.

The two sat together in silence for an hour until they heard noises behind them in the shop.

"That'll be Henry," Emma said, softly, patting Jeff's knee as she stood. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," he said on a long sigh. "I'm always okay."

It was a lie, but Emma let it pass.

"Where's Gracie?"

He gestured to the porch roof. "Up in her room. She's supposed to be doing homework, but I'm sure she's reading comic books."

Emma smiled. "Probably. What are you two doing for dinner tonight?"

He gave her a small smile, knowing what she was doing. "Pizza. I put the order in this morning."

"Smart," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "Sounds like you're set for the night. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," he said, sighing again. "Tomorrow."

Emma left him to the quiet of his back garden, knowing that if he could have kept his sanity for nothing else in the world, he'd keep it for Grace.

She felt more at peace than she had all week, and thought that she would be able to walk beside Henry's sullen, angry silence without breaking down in tears. She'd apologize to him a thousand times, if that was what it took, and if he'd listen. He was her son, after all, and she would do anything for him.

To Emma's surprise, as she approached the front of the shop, she heard two voices. At first she thought one must be Grace, but as she grew closer, she realized the higher voice was Henry's, and the other was low and adult. If she hadn't known better, she'd say it was Killian.

It  _was_ Killian. He was standing in Jeff's entryway, smiling down at her son who appeared to be telling him everything he knew about Romeo and Juliet, and Shakespeare in general.

"Hey," she said softly, but apparently loud enough to bring both heads around. To her surprise, they were both smiling.

"How was rehearsal, Kid?" she asked, not sure what kind of response to expect, in spite of the smile.

"Pretty good," he said with a shrug, walking over and hugging her around the waist even as he continued to talk. "Shakespeare is kind of like Yoda. He keeps saying things backwards. Like… 'these lips I kiss,' instead of 'I kiss these lips,' right?"

"Um… I suppose so," Emma said, uncertain and just a little unsteady. "Maybe that's why Yoda speaks like he does. He's 900 years old, maybe he knew Shakespeare."

"Yoda's an alien, Mom," Henry said, exasperated.

"Maybe Shakespeare was too," Emma said with a shrug. "That could be why he was such a genius by human standards. Wasn't he an alien in that one episode of Doctor Who?"

"No," Henry said, rolling his eyes and leading the way out of the shop. "He just helped stop the aliens."

"Right," Emma said, falling into step behind him. "Silly me." She glanced over at Killian, who was also keeping pace with them. "So… what are you doing here, Jones?"

"I had a late afternoon visitor to the diner," he said, glancing up at Henry ahead of them, "who extended me a dinner invitation."

"We were supposed to do pizza and Mystery Science Theater," Henry explained over his shoulder. "I thought Killian should come too."

"You did?" Emma asked, wrong-footed. She glanced over at Killian, who just shrugged.

"Who am I to turn down dinner and entertainment with my two favorite people? That's assuming you don't mind?"

Emma shook her head, and Killian reached out, shy as a schoolboy, to take her hand. She glanced up at Henry, but he was studiously ignoring the pair of them, so she linked her fingers with Killian's and continued behind her son back to their house.

~?~?~?~?~

They weren't fully two-thirds of the way through Manos: The Hands of Fate when Henry pushed himself off the couch with a fake, dramatic yawn and stretch.

"Well I'm tired," he lied, rubbing his eyes theatrically. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you two in the morning." He then vanished into his bedroom and shut the door soundly behind him.

Emma and Killian looked at each other, wide-eyed, then turned back to Henry's closed door.

"Did he just-" Emma began, and then trailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

"Don't ask me, Love. He's your son."

"I did  _not_  teach him that. I probably ought to take away his computer privileges or something. No idea where he's getting his ideas."

Killian grinned. "You'd honestly punish him for this?"

Emma sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. "No, probably not. I just don't understand what he's up to."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tightly into his side. "He's trying to make amends, Love."

"For what? He didn't do anything wrong."

He shrugged. "Perhaps not, but I've lived long enough to know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. We've both seen this movie before, perhaps Henry has the right idea and it is time to go to bed."


	8. Saturday Again

The clock on the bedside table read 3 AM, the night was quiet, the house was still, and Killian's breathing in the dark beside her was deep and even, but Emma could not sleep.

She sighed and sat up, slow and quiet so as not to jostle or disturb her bedmate. She looked at him for a moment, a fortuitous beam of moonlight slicing through the room lit his face, and she could see that in sleep he looked young- almost as young as he'd been when she'd first met him, a young man full of wild oats to sow. He didn't look mischievous as he had then- puckish and playful- he looked innocent, even angelic in the pale moonlight with his hair falling forward across his brow like a boy's, and she suppressed the urge to brush that lock back and kiss his forehead where it lay, as she would with Henry.

Though the fact of Killian in her bed made her smile, it was her son that kept her awake, and he that drew her from her bed, out of her room to stand silent in the door to his room, watching him sleep.

She stood and listened to him breathe, much as she had done when he was an infant. She'd been so scared then, second-guessing the choice she'd made in that hospital room- the one to keep him, to trust herself to be his best chance. She'd stood over his crib at night in that tiny outbuilding of the Inn, watching him sleep, counting his breaths, trying to imagine what his life could possibly be now that she'd claimed him- what could he make of himself with a mother who had spent her entire life unwanted, a high school dropout, pregnant at 17, and a father who'd turned tail and run at the first hint of responsibility. She'd thought then of picking up the phone and trying to find someone who could do what she couldn't- give him everything.

Eleven years later, those fears hadn't abated, only added to. Now her greatest fear was losing him- somehow making the fatal mistake that would break the love and trust that he had in her. Doing something that would make him run from her, as she had run from so many people in her life.

She could have sworn she made no sound, but he turned over suddenly in bed and the low light of the early hours glinted in his open eyes.

"Mom?" he murmured, voice low and sleep-slurred.

"Yeah, it's me, Kid," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

She crossed the room and settled onto his bed. He turned and cuddled into her arms as he had always done, since he was tiny.

"It's really late," he said, voice muffled in her shirt.

"I know, but I couldn't sleep. I needed to tell you that I'm sorry I didn't call your dad when I promised I would, and it was keeping me up."

Henry snorted slightly. "You worry too much, Mom. It's okay. I'm sorry I made you feel so bad about it."

Emma's arms tightened around him slightly. "No, don't apologize. I'm the mom, it's my job to apologize to you, you don't have to apologize to me."

"What about when I do things that hurt you or make you upset?"

She smiled into the darkness, and stroked his sleep-rumpled hair. "That's your job, Kid. You'll break my heart a thousand times, which is actually pretty good, since I'm pretty sure I've broken Regina's a million."

The two of them were quiet for a little while. Emma could tell that Henry wasn't asleep yet, so she spoke again, the other thing that weighed on her heart rising to the surface.

"Killian's upstairs."

"I know, Mom. I'm eleven. I'm not a kid."

That made Emma laugh, quietly, and Henry rolled away from her with an exasperated huff when his head bounced against her chest where he'd been laying it. He lay on his side, facing her, his head on one pillow, hers on the other, eye-to-eye.

"Don't you want him here?" Henry asked, seriously.

Emma hesitated only a moment before answering. "Yeah, I do. I like having him here but… it's just been you and me for a long time, Kid. In this house and in our lives… everyone else was kind of… separate. But now we're letting someone in and… isn't that kind of scary?"

Henry smiled and flipped onto his back, closing his eyes. "I'm not scared, Mom," he said, and his voice was already dropping back toward sleep. "Don't worry. Me and Killian will take care of you."

~?~?~?~?~

Killian woke when Emma got out of bed, but he remained still, thinking she was going to the bathroom. He tried to stay awake for her return, but dropped off again at some point, only to wake two hours later to his own internal alarm and found her gone from the bed already.

He may have never shared a bed with her before, but Killian knew that Emma Swan was no early riser, so it was with some trepidation that he made his stealthy search through the quiet house.

He found her in Henry's room, the two of them cuddled together like puppies, such a picture of domestic tranquility and filial love that he couldn't help a smile.

Her eyes fluttered open, after a moment, and she smiled sleepily at him before disentangling herself from her son and sneaking out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"I suppose he snores less than I do," Killian said quietly as the pair retreated into the kitchen together.

She shook her head, smiling. "You were fine. I'm sorry I left I just… I needed him last night. A lot of stuff is changing- he's growing up, and you're here, Mary Margaret and David are getting married and will probably start having kids of their own soon. I guess I just needed to remind myself that some stuff is the same."

He reached for her waist, pulling her against him and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

"Henry loves you," he murmured into her hair, "and he always will."

The two of them stood like that, wrapped in each other and basking in the early-morning stillness for a long moment until Emma yawned suddenly, and Killian stepped back to smile into her eyes.

"This is rather early for you, Love. Sit down, I'll make you coffee."

"You can't," Emma said after a glance at the clock. "You need to get back into town and open the Jolly."

He pushed her into a chair and started rummaging in her cabinets, in spite of her objections. "Ned, Jim, and Bart can open without me."

"You never miss a breakfast shift. If you come in late today, walking in from this side of town, everybody's gonna think you spent the night here."

"I  _did_ spend the night here," he said, shooting her a cheeky wink over his shoulder.

"Killian."

"Emma," he answered back in the same voice. He turned to look at her, leaning back against the counter. "I'm not ashamed of having slept here last night, so long as you're not." He raised a questioning eyebrow at her until she shook her head. "Since I intend to do so as often as possible from here on out, I think the town will get bored of talking about it eventually. The sooner they start, the sooner they'll be over it, don't you think?"

"You've got a lot of confidence in getting another sleepover invite, don't you?"

Killian grinned puckishly. "Perhaps you need more incentive to have me back. I could make you breakfast?"

She laughed. "I think the closest thing I have to breakfast ingredients in this kitchen is a box of Pop-Tarts. If you can make real food out of that, you might be a witch, in which case we'll have to burn you at the stake."

"I can quite promise you, I weigh more than a duck."

After a long rummage through her cupboards and refrigerator, even Killian had to concede that he could do nothing more impressive than toast and peanut butter, which he served to her with the first of the pot of coffee he'd made.

"Good enough?" he asked as he poured himself a cup and sat across the table from her.

She picked up a piece of toast and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. He watched her carefully until she swallowed and grinned at him.

"Delicious. I suppose I'll keep you around."

~?~?~?~?~

Emma watched the classic Mercedes pull up and park on the street in front of her house from the living room window.

"Hurry up, Henry, your grandmother's here," she called as she opened the door to Regina. "Hello, Mother."

"Emma," Regina said, stiffly.

The two stood in icy awkwardness for a moment until Henry's voice rang out from across the house.

"Where are my socks?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Have you checked your sock drawer?"

The silence in response was telling, and Emma turned back to find her mother's lips twitching.

"Cup of coffee?" Emma asked, gesturing her inside. "He'll be a bit."

"Yes, I suppose so," Regina said, stiffly, and followed Emma into the kitchen.

While her mother sat, Emma divided the last of Killian's coffee into two mugs. He'd left around 8, but not before giving into her fluttering eyelashes and making a second pot.

"This is quite good," Regina said, taking a sip. "What kind of beans are you using?"

Emma shrugged. "Whatever's on sale at the market, usually. Killian's just got a magic touch with a cup of coffee."

Regina pursed her lips. "He made coffee for you this morning?"

Emma's chin went up and she met her mother's eyes across the table defiantly. "Yeah, he did. Before he went to work," she said, daring her mother to comment.

Regina was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I'm glad, Emma. I'm glad he was here to take care of you."

"Thanks, Mom."

Again, the two descended into silence, sipping their coffee and avoiding each other's eyes. The tension stretched thin and sharp between them, building slowly and inexorably until Henry rushed into the room, breaking it with a near-audible snap.

"Hi Grandma!" he cried, throwing his arms around her.

"Hello, darling," she said, hugging him back. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yup," he said with a cheerful grin. Regina had agreed to take him for the afternoon while Emma ran the errands she had neglected all week.

"Did you brush your teeth?" Emma asked.

"Um..."

"Go." She pointed forcefully back into the house and Henry stomped off, grumbling under his breath.

"Thanks for taking him today," Emma said, alone with her mother again.

"Well, you know it's always my pleasure."

She sighed. Her mother was a stubborn woman and wouldn't bend first.

"Look, Mom, I'm sorry about last weekend- Henry did have plans already, but I could have called and let you know I was going to be in town. I really wasn't trying to snub you or anything, I just didn't think of it at all."

"Yes, well," Regina said with a small grimace, "you are right that it wouldn't have been very comfortable for me to spend the day with your friends. And you don't have to tell me everything you do- you are an adult, after all."

"Yeah, but it was petty of me to object when you were trying to help Mary Margaret afford her dress. I am sorry about that."

Regina nodded. "Thank you, Emma. I will admit I was a bit high-handed."

"Well, you did manage to get her her dream dress, so it's fine. Thank you for that, she's really thrilled."

"I'm glad. She did look quite lovely in it. Are you and the other girls planning another trip to find your dresses?"

"No, I'll be making those. I may be back in Misthaven in a week or so at the fabric stores though, if we want to plan lunch or something."

Regina gave her a small smile, even as Henry returned to the kitchen.

"Are you happy now, Mom?" he asked, sarcastically.

"Thrilled," she said, reaching out to rumple his hair. "Be good for your grandmother, okay? And thanks again, Regina."

"Thank you, Emma. We'll see you at the school this evening."

~?~?~?~?~

Emma glared at the shelves full of roses and daisies, chrysanthemums and sunflowers. Mr. French ran a lovely florist's shop, but nothing said 'Henry' to her.

"Have you got anything that you'd think would appeal to an eleven-year-old boy?" she asked, turning to Mr. French who had been watching her amused.

"What does he like?"

Emma sighed. "Horses and knights and princesses, and apparently Shakespeare."

"I can see how that follows. Well, as the Bard says, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."

"Yeah, I've heard," she said, darkly. "Roses just seem… cliche."

"You could get them in blue so they're less girly?" he suggested, gesturing towards one of the displays.

"I suppose…" Emma said, unconvinced.

"Or what about a cactus?"

The conversation was interrupted by the bell over the door, and Emma and Mr. French turned to see Mary Margaret and David standing just inside the door.

"Hi Mary Margaret, hi David," Emma said, determined not to make the situation awkward if it could be avoided. "You here to look at wedding flowers?"

"Um, yes," Mary Margaret said, a blush rising in her cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for something to give Henry after his show tonight. I don't think a cactus will cut it, but thanks, Mr. French. I'll have to think of something else, I'll let you get to your better customers."

He winked at her. "Never a bad day when I've too many pretty girls in my shop. Let me know if you can't think of anything else- cactuses can be kind of interesting, and they're very easy to take care of."

Emma rolled her eyes and moved to pass Mary Margaret and David to the door, but Mary Margaret grabbed her sleeve before she could.

"Emma, I-" she seemed suddenly to notice David and Mr. French watching the pair of them with interest, and her flush went darker. "Could we talk outside really quick?"

"Of course," Emma said, as calm as possible. "See you later, David. Mr. French."

Once out on the sidewalk, Mary Margaret wouldn't meet her eyes.

Emma took a deep breath. "Mary Margaret, I'm so sorry I didn't-"

"I talked to Killian," Mary Margaret interrupted in a rush.

"What?"

It was Mary Margaret's turn to take a deep breath, seeming to gird herself for something. "I talked to Killian. Today. At the diner. And he said that you haven't been working on a project for him. He said you were working on something for Henry's school." She finally looked up from the toes of her black ballet flats, meeting Emma's eyes with her own, full of apology.

"I'm so sorry, Emma. It was stupid of me to assume you were doing something for him and prioritizing him over me. I've known you for years and know you wouldn't do that."

"I still should have told you-"

Mary Margaret flapped her hand to silence her. "You've already apologized for that, and it's nothing, you just let it slip your mind. I was being terrible to you- a total bridezilla. Of course Henry is always your first priority, but even after him, you shouldn't be putting my wedding before everything else in your life. That was terrible of me to even imply. Please forgive me?"

"Of course," Emma said, surprised that she even thought she needed to ask. "You know I do. I love you."

Mary Margaret appeared to be nearly in tears as she threw her arms around Emma, hugging her tight.

"I don't know what this town did to deserve you," she murmured, "but it probably wasn't good enough."

~?~?~?~?~

Emma scanned the grade school auditorium which was slowly filling with people until she found Regina, already seated in an otherwise empty row. She smiled. Storybrooke was friendly but insular, and people tended to give strangers a wide berth until they had proven themselves members of the community, at which point they were clasped to the proverbial breast and made part of the family.

Regina would hate being considered part of Storybrooke anyway, Emma decided. The town tolerated her for Emma and Henry's sake (they being certified members of the odd extended family that made the town), but she would probably always be an outsider.

Emma joined her mother in the molded plastic chairs that had been set out, accepting a copy of the program for the evening that was handed to her.

Mary Margaret and David arrived before Emma had found Henry's name in the list of other kids, joining Emma and Regina.

"Did you end up with a cactus?" Mary Margaret asked, eyeing the box Emma had stowed under her seat as she leaned forward to look around David.

"No," she said with a shrug. "I got him a cupcake from the bakery. They added a pick with the comedy and tragedy masks, you know?"

"Oh, he'll like that," David said, wrapping an arm around the back of Mary Margaret's chair.

"I have to pretend it was Neal's idea," she said. "I asked him to send Henry something, but he couldn't think of anything and asked me to do it instead."

Regina sniffed pointedly. "Coward," she muttered under her breath.

Emma didn't respond, though she secretly agreed.

Mulan and Ruby arrived a few minutes later, and Belle shortly thereafter, which turned the conversation toward the wedding, as always seemed to happen when they were all together.

"Did you pick flowers?" Emma asked, poking David in the ribs. "White roses and snowdrops?"

"No," Mary Margaret said. "I think we'll do pink roses for the decorative flowers, but I kind of want to do a bouquet I've seen on Pinterest."

Emma groaned. "I was hoping you wouldn't become a Pinterest bride!" she said with a laugh.

"I know, I know, but apparently Mulan knows how to make them, so you won't have to get involved."

Emma leaned forward to look at Mulan down the row. "Seriously? You're going to do some of the crafting for this wedding? I think I might get down on one knee and propose to you right now."

"Hey!" Ruby said, giving her a fake glare. "Hands off my girlfriend."

"You can come too, Rubes. We'll run off to some ultra-liberal European country south of France and live in polyamorous sin for our entire lives."

"I have no idea what I missed, but it sounds like a good time," Killian said, joining the row on Regina's other side.

"Emma, Mulan, and I are running away together to become poly, lesbian, hedonists," Ruby called out, and Emma enjoyed the shocked look on her mother's face.

"As I say, it sounds like fun."

"What's that?" Emma asked, noticing that he was carrying something under his arm.

He pulled out a small teddy bear dressed in a ruff, holding a quill in one paw.

"A Shakespeare bear," he said with an embarrassed shrug. "Thought it might be a fun memento of the show for Henry."

"That's incredible, Killian," David said, looking down the row at it. "Where'd you find it?"

"Ordered it off Amazon on Monday when we heard about the show. Thank god for two-day shipping, eh?"

"That's exactly the kind of thing I was looking for, but of course I got at it too late," Emma said with a sigh.

"Well you can give him this one," Killian said, offering it toward her.

She shook her head. "It wouldn't be from me, it'd be from Neal."

Killian's jaw clenched for a moment, then he shrugged. "Go ahead and take it. So long as he gets it, doesn't really matter who gets the credit, right?"

"You can give him the cupcake I got him," Emma offered, pulling out the box and flipping the lid up so he could see it. The icing was violently green, the sort that would make his saliva green for hours, which Henry would enjoy, but made Killian scrunch up his nose.

"Better that comes from you," he said, shaking his head. "What if I took him out for ice cream after the show? You and your mother as well, obviously, if you're available Ms. Mills," he continued, nodding deferentially to Regina.

Emma looked at Regina and was amused to see that she was grudgingly impressed with Killian.

"I think perhaps not," she said. "Thank you, but I'll leave you three to go together… as a family."

"You're family too, Ms. Mills," Killian said, seriously.

It made Emma's heart feel like a small glowing light was set underneath it that he did not dispute his own claim to family status.

"Please call me Regina," she said. "I think we should be at least that comfortable with each other, considering."

Killian smiled and offered her a hand. "Killian, please," he said when she took it.

Emma wasn't sure what might have happened next if Jasmine hadn't stepped on stage and called the audience to order to watch a tale of complicated families, true love, and perilous redemption.


End file.
